Lot 37
by messyfeathers
Summary: Carlos did not buy Cecil at the auction. Carlos didn't even know there was an auction until after it was all over. But he's definitely going to help his boyfriend figure out a way to buy him back from...well, from whoever had the nerve to buy him in the first place. [oneshot based on ep. 37]


**Spoilers for Episode 37 - 'The Auction'**

* * *

It had been just a silly fight. It had ended with Carlos leaving for work and slamming the door behind him, but if he had learned anything about living in Night Vale, it was that life was far too unpredictable to hold onto grudges or bitter words. So when Cecil called that evening to ask if they could talk, Carlos didn't even think twice before inviting him over.

"I'm sorry about this morning," Cecil apologized with a quick kiss as he slipped off his coat and set it on the arm of the old mustard yellow sofa.

"It's alright, I don't even remember what we disagreed on," Carlos assured him with a smile as they sat down on the worn cushions. It wasn't entirely true. They had been fighting again about Steve Carlsberg as they often did; Steve wasn't a Night Vale native, so Carlos could easily see the logic behind many of his conspiracy theories and subsequently defended him against the town's directionless hatred (even when most of that hatred was instigated by Cecil). Carlos chose to let it go because Cecil looked altogether exhausted as he slumped against the punctured corduroy. For weeks now his whole demeanor had seemed hollow and wilted, his eyes ringed with dark circles from worried, restless nights. Today he looked even worse. "Tell me about your day," Carlos offered.

"Well, I got bought today." Carlos eyed him curiously. "I suppose if I was bought, it also would be implied that I was sold," he explained simply.

"Wh-what? Who sold you?" Carlos asked in disbelief.

"The Secret Police. They held an auction to raise money for a piñata." Cecil was wringing his hands frantically in his lap.

"A...piñata?" Again Carlos felt like he was missing some important detail that could clarify the absolute lack of sense in the conversation.

"To crush rebellions," Cecil sighed in exasperation. It was definitely not the detail the scientist was hoping for, so he dropped the matter.

"Who, um.." He tried to find a delicate way of wording the question. "Who bought you?"

"I don't know," Cecil choked. "I went to the auction myself; I tried to buy the lot, but I was panicking. I was struggling to focus, let alone breathe. By the time I got myself together the auctioneer was calling '_sold_.' I didn't even see who won." He quit wringing his hands and instead buried his face in them.

"Why didn't you call me? I was up at the Canyon, I didn't hear your show. I would have come and tried to help." Carlos reached out to gently pry Cecil's hands away.

"I didn't know myself until I was on air. I didn't call because I was afraid you were still upset. Besides you couldn't have gotten all the way there in time. And it's over now anyway. It's done. So it doesn't matter." Cecil looked away, but he couldn't hide the shuddered breath or the slight shake to his shoulders. Carlos scooted closer so he could wrap his arms around his boyfriend. "How could I be so stupid?" Cecil finally managed between unsteady breaths. "I'm so scared, and I don't know what to do."

"We'll find a way to fix this, to buy you back somehow. We'll figure this out," the scientist soothed as he let Cecil cry out all the stress of the last few weeks. It took twenty minutes for Carlos to calm him down, but he finally convinced him to at least sip at a cup of hot tea in hopes that coaxing him to settle down would also help him to think a little clearer. "So what do you know about the auctioning of.."

"Lot 37," Cecil finished for him. He shrugged. "I don't know. It went so fast. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe, and three breaths later it was all over. There was only one person even interested in me," he finished, sounding slightly offended.

"Don't you think that's a little strange?" Carlos asked as he sat down across the little kitchen table with his own mug of tea. Cecil picked at a chink in the cheap pressed wood in resignation. It was obvious he was still berating himself for his stupidity. Carlos knew for a fact that Cecil was far more brilliant than he believed himself to be, so the scientist tried his best to lead him to the conclusions and let him connect the dots himself. Anything to keep his mind on a more positive track. "Personal bias aside, you're the voice of Night Vale. People love you, or at the very least they respect you. Don't you think there would be at least one opposing bid? What does that tell you?" Cecil thought carefully for a long moment.

"It must have been a pretty high bid," he said slowly, perking up ever so slightly.

"Exactly. Who in town could afford to bid so high that nobody could compete with it?" The radio host shifted in his chair, sitting up a little straighter.

"Well StrexCorp could afford to, I suppose."

"Why would StrexCorp bid on you when they already control most of what you say?" Carlos pointed out. "Also we know the Secret Police are at least cooperating with them if not working directly _for_ them. If you were already seized police property, why would they bother to auction you off? Is there anyone else in town it could be?"

"There was a man there with a tan jacket I think." His hiccups were decreasing in frequency, and he was talking with his hands again, which Carlos took as an excellent sign. "I don't remember if I actually saw him or just thought I did. But I hear rumors that he's got a bit of money. Then again, there are a lot of rumors about men in jackets and I never know if they're even all about the same person. People change their stories when I ask them twice."

"That's a really vague lead to go on," Carlos replied after a sip of tea.

"Well I guess then there's always Marcus Vanston. He was there. He has enough money to buy the town and everyone in it if he felt like it. If he made a bid, there's almost no chance anyone could match it."

"He's the one with the...er...library?" Carlos vaguely recalled hearing mention of the one safe library in Night Vale and its eccentric owner and sole usually-nude patron. Cecil nodded enthusiastically.

"He's a great guy. Definitely one of Night Vale's most important citizens, in fact." Cecil took another long sip of the tea, brightening considerably as he set the empty mug on the table. "So if it _is_ Marcus, what do we do?"

"I suppose we give him whatever his asking price is for you. Whatever it is he wants," Carlos shrugged.

"All I have anymore are these stupid vouchers," Cecil grumbled.

"Marcus already has money. I don't think he'd want more. If he's spent a lot of money on you, it's a good chance there's something else he's after," Carlos reasoned. "I saw he tossed his hat into the ring this morning. Maybe he's literally buying votes?"

"I'm not a vote, I'm a person," Cecil replied flatly. "Besides, I would have voted for him anyway."

"Then maybe he's buying your voice. Airtime. A good word spoken by a voice the town trusts could go far in an election." Cecil paused to consider the possibility.

"Or maybe he bought me for my body," he suggested. Carlos burst out laughing. "What - you don't think other people might want this?" Cecil stood and struck what he must have assumed was a provocative pose. Carlos took one look from the purple plastic Buddy Holly glasses to the baggy sweater and high-waisted shorts complete with suspenders, to the thigh-high socks and lavender sneakers and tried hard not to laugh again. "You know, Marcus is _not_ half bad. I mean, he's no you, but he _is_ rich. Under duress or direct orders, I could hypothetically tap that," Cecil teased as he climbed comfortably into the scientist's lap and wrapped his arms around his neck.

"I'm going to pretend we never had this conversation because now I'm just uncomfortable," Carlos chuckled.

"I have been traded and sold like property all day and _you're_ uncomfortable?" Cecil grinned. His smile faltered after a moment as whatever brief bit of relief he had found vanished. He leaned his head on Carlos's shoulder, the slightest hint of a quaver slipping back into his voice. "And if it's Strex? I don't want to belong to them or Marcus or some man with a briefcase full of flies. I don't want to belong to anybody. Except I wouldn't mind just being yours," he mumbled into the flannel of his boyfriend's shirt. Carlos wrapped his arms a little tighter around Cecil's waist and pressed a soft kiss to one of the still-healing scars just above his eye.

"_Shh_, baby. I promise you, we'll figure this all out."

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_End Notes: Personally I think it was Marcus, because Carlos buying him would be sweet, but I think he would have told Cecil immediately. In any case, poor Cecil deserved a cuddly bit of comfort after that episode. (Also: Cecil in ridiculous clothes is my new favorite thing and nobody can stop me)_


End file.
